


Through the Tinted Glass

by MlledeLaRoseBlanche



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlledeLaRoseBlanche/pseuds/MlledeLaRoseBlanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to find the sense in life, love, & heartache in a moment shadowed by hate is never easy in the modern world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Tinted Glass

I am a young woman studying in a university somewhere in Canada. I am young. I have a future ahead of me.

_Why am I so tired?_

The weight of it presses my shoulders and I can feel my spine curl until I resemble a question mark. It's not from the backpack, no matter how heavy. My shoes are brown, dirty, scuffed. My ankle hurts where the left one rubs against the skin through my thin socks. I have plenty of socks so there is no need to buy new ones. At least, there is no need to mooch money off of my parents or my boyfriend in order to get new socks.

_Can't I just rest a moment?_

It's sunny today, but so cold. I shivered on the walk to class this morning. It's a half-hour walk from home. I could take a city bus, but I don't exercise any other time. I need the walk. I need the music in my ears to help me forget. It never works, mind, but I try to distract myself with thoughts. The reality hurts too much to consider, no matter how pathetic it sounds to dwell on the problem. I dream of wide open spaces our ancestors used to take days to cross on horseback to get the next city; I dream of the blasts of gunfire from weapons that the soldiers are lucky to even make work for them; I dream of the food, hard to hang on to or hard to come by depending on where you lived, but so much simpler.

_I want to make my own choices._

They're mad at me again. I have disappointed them. My choices are wrong, deviant. I've changed so much, and none of it is for the better. I am brainwashed, controlled, dominated, governed, ruled over. The lies they tell themselves make me sick. Do they think I chose to be this way? Do they honestly think I would not have chosen to be normal so they could love me unconditionally if I had a choice? I fell in love with a man who only I can see because everyone else has their nose pinned between the brittle pages of a book written thousands of years ago that says, in paraphrase, that a man is only what he is because he can breed.

_Be alone, be together; the problems never go away._

I love him. He hates himself, hates what he has to see every time he washes, dresses, goes to the washroom, looks in the mirror. I want to help him, remind him of what I see. I have a good imagination, so I have been told. Love is hard enough. It gets harder when you are a freak, when you have no one to turn to because they are all against you, all the hypocrites who fought for their own relations that were equally scorned. Elope, fake pregnancy, marriage despite the vociferations, teen pregnancy and doing 'right' by the girl, leaving home before being anywhere near the age of majority; it's all been done. Our closet is full of the stories if you dig deep enough. Everything statistically expected for lower-class fools like us. It was only a matter of time before the next generation brought the new age of problems to this cocktail of deceit and hypocrisy.

_Free to speak does not mean free to harm and hate._

Tired, so tired. The page blurs. I have cried enough. I can no longer feel my eyes and my nose dribbles like a toddler's. It has yet to begun to bleed from the stress of being emptied; I suppose I should count it as a blessing.

I never thought love was without conditions - you had get good grades in school, you had to be obedient, you had to be seen and not heard, you had to be slim and trim and beautiful, you have to have friends, you have to be always leaving the house, you have to at least try it with a boy (but make sure to be safe) - but it was never meant to have them. At least, I don't think it's supposed to, but I am probably wrong. I am with a man who loves me, who respects me, who calls me his equal and his goddess. He can listen and respond intelligently; he can argue, but never hold a grudge; he is generous all the time, and sometimes beyond his measures. I wish they could see this instead of only looking for reasons to hate him and to hate me.

**_Why can't I be free?_ **


End file.
